


Dinner

by amagicbeyond



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: 2x22, Canon Compliant, F/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:54:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25637629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amagicbeyond/pseuds/amagicbeyond
Summary: Fitz had narrowed it down to three options, three being a nice, comfortable number that should offer a bit of choice. He’d cross-referenced restaurant review sites, done the math on the star ratings, had come up with a good variety. He finished the knot on his tie, looked in the mirror and immediately wondered if the tie was too much. He put on a sweater vest in hopes that it might help tone it down, and then took it off again. He licked his fingers and tried to tuck a stray curl behind his ear. He needed a haircut.
Relationships: Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons
Comments: 10
Kudos: 20





	Dinner

**Author's Note:**

> I've been watching SHIELD from the beginning, and I've only ever written one little fic for it—this one, right after the season 2 finale aired. Originally posted on Tumblr in May 2015.

Fitz had narrowed it down to three options, three being a nice, comfortable number that should offer a bit of choice. He’d cross-referenced restaurant review sites, done the math on the star ratings, had come up with a good variety. He finished the knot on his tie, looked in the mirror and immediately wondered if the tie was too much. He put on a sweater vest in hopes that it might help tone it down, and then took it off again. He licked his fingers and tried to tuck a stray curl behind his ear. He needed a haircut.

He looked at the clock, but they hadn’t set a time, and he hadn’t heard Jemma come back to the living quarters yet. Perhaps the analysis she was running was taking longer than expected. Fitz looked in the mirror, and put the sweater vest back on.

Would it be… would it be too eager to go back to the lab and check on her?

He resolved to be a bit less of an idiot this time, though Jemma, bless her, didn’t seem to mind. A thrill still went through him any time he thought of the way she’d grasped his hand, said three little words, and shattered all those walls he’d been trying so hard to build up all year long.

_“There’s nothing to discuss.”_

_“Maybe there is.”_

There were tears in her eyes and a wobble in her voice and he’d turned and stared at her, processing what she might mean, second-guessing himself, reaffirming his first instinct, thinking about kissing her. This was the time, wasn’t it? He was off on a dangerous mission, she had just put her heart on her sleeve. He thought he might do it. He moved toward her.

And then, of course, duty called and the moment was gone and he’d lost his nerve. He should have said something before he turned, but he was full of conflicting emotions and didn’t know what it should be. He’d heard her sob as he walked away, and it was all he could do to keep walking.

When he’d returned from the mission, shell-shocked, blood on his hands, clear-minded, he knew the ball was in his court. So he asked her to dinner.

It seemed a bit silly, maybe, in the context of their intertwined lives and jobs that dinner someplace nice would mean anything at all. But Fitz had thought about it, and he thought maybe that was the point. If they were going to try this, they should do it right, have something separate from the team and the rest of it. Going on a date… that’s what you did when you liked someone, wasn’t it?

( _Love_ , the word was _love_ , but Fitz had mentally struck it from his vocabulary for tonight. This was not the time. This was a tentative, new, fragile thing that was already a little bit bruised, that needed to be nurtured, and respected, and treated carefully. Things were quiet these days. They had time.)

(But oh, he did, he loved that girl.)

Jemma smiled back at him from a selfie they’d taken what felt like years ago, stuck in the corner of the mirror, back when they were green and uncomplicated best friends and he was whole and she didn’t know how to lie and neither of them had ever suspected they might become spies and killers. He flashed, for one sick moment, to the thudding, squishy sound of the teleporter impaling himself upon the rod Fitz carried, the way it had jumped in his hands.

Fitz squeezed his eyes shut and when he opened them, refocused on Jemma’s smiling face. She had been hesitant when he’d returned, but when they were alone, when he had told her what had happened, she had hugged him for a really long time. He’d let his tense muscles relax and had leaned on her, eyes closed, breathing in the comfort of her floral-scented hair.

_Maybe I should check on her._

He knocked on her door, just in case, and didn’t see her in the halls. The lab, when he got there, was empty and silent but for the humming of the machinery. Fitz frowned. The humming seemed over-loud to him, and he peered at the readouts. “Wait-” he said aloud.

Jemma’s tests hadn’t finished, they were blinking red from some interruption and the numbers – the numbers were off the charts. Fitz stood back, a sick dread building in him.

The glass cage was open, and the stone-that-wasn’t-stone stood quietly, menacing.

He remembered leaning on it, something unlatching. Thinking about dinner and the way her eyes grew three sizes when she’d finally understood what he was talking about. He remembered letting his embarrassment take over, leaving her alone, and not giving the glass cage a second thought.

“Jemma?”

The room, and the stone, were silent.


End file.
